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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596894">Written In The Stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyvernQuill/pseuds/WyvernQuill'>WyvernQuill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Crowley Won't Be Evil Though Don't Worry), Alternate Universe - Human, Always Footnotes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Aziraphale, Based on the movie Ruby Sparks, Book Character Crowley Turns Real, Editor Gabriel, Footnotes, Goromcom, Humor, M/M, Magical Realism, More Frankenstein Vibes Really, Not Following The Movie Very Closely, Other, Romantic Comedy, Why Playing God Is A Bad Idea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:15:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyvernQuill/pseuds/WyvernQuill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three things the Esteemed Reader ought to know about Anthony J. Crowley.<br/>1) he is the love interest of Aziraphale's newest publication.<br/>2) he is written to be the perfect husband, charming and handsome and attentive and a variety of other adjectives Aziraphale will forever deny he used a thesaurus to find.<br/>3) he's currently sitting on Aziraphale's sofa, a good deal less fictional than he has any right to be.</p><p>Or: Aziraphale accidentally writes his dream man into existence, Gabriel wishes he were someone else's editor - not to mention someone else's brother - and <em> The Modern Prometheus </em> reeeeeaaally should've served as a cautionary tale…</p><p>(Written for the goromcom event! Based loosely on the movie <em> Ruby Sparks.</em>)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Rom Com Event</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Written In The Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rom-com event time!!!</p><p>Funny story about this: I don't actually <em> like </em> Ruby Sparks very much. But I have half a WIP of a Docto Who fic with a very similar premise, written long before I ever learned of the movie's existence, and figured I'd love to revisit the concept!</p><p>So, without further ado - please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"We can't print this."</p><p>"Yes you can!" Aziraphale shifted primly in the uncomfortableness made chair that Gabriel saw it fit to populate his office with. "You've all these smashing printing machines, haven't you? Just send it over, they'll do the rest."</p><p>"Funny." Gabriel deadpanned. "You know what I mean, Aziraphale. This is garbage."</p><p>"Ah." Aziraphale studiously avoided looking at him, instead addressing his next remark to the potted plant in the corner. "I see where you're confused, Gabriel, but I'm afraid it <em> is, </em> in fact, a <em> manuscript, </em> not-"</p><p>"Aziraphale!" Gabriel slammed his hand on the desk, rattling the half-empty cup of coffee and the steel sphere toy that had no use whatsoever except giving the room a distinctly office-y feel. "Shut. Up."</p><p>Aziraphale's up was firmly shut.</p><p>"Look." Gabriel sighed, rubbing his temples. "You know I love you, Azi, right?"</p><p>Aziraphale nodded.*</p><p> </p><p>*If he was entirely honest, he had his doubts in this regard. Gabriel had always taken his role as older brother to be one of vaguely affectionate bullying, and simply the usage of "Azi" against all of Aziraphale's expressed wishes wasn't exactly a convincing point in his favour.</p><p>However, he felt like pointing this out would not exactly further endear him to Gabriel-the-brother, which didn't bode well for getting anywhere with Gabriel-the-editor today, so Aziraphale refrained.</p><p> </p><p>"And I <em> know </em> you're a good romance writer- no, you're a <em> great </em> one. That's why I'm putting my job on the line with the higher-ups to keep you with <em> Seventh Heaven*, </em> again and again."</p><p> </p><p>*<em> Seventh Heaven, </em>the Number One Publishing House for Romantic Literature in Britain, established 1962 by the Sirs Bilton and Scaggs, and which celebrated its first great success with the historic romance "Nice and Accurate", telling the heartwrenching story of a woman accused of witchcraft, and the adulterous puritan who falls madly in love with her.</p><p>(The author, Agnes N. Utter, truly had a knack for historically accurate description, and would often joke this was merely a memoir of her past life, with some artistic liberties taken for plot convenience.</p><p>Aziraphale was about 50% - 60 on a good day - certain she was just extremely good at doing her research; and all Gabriel had once said on the matter was "well, she certainly <em> spells </em> like an illiterate 17th century peasant woman" while in the middle of editing her latest.)</p><p> </p><p>"But, for some reason, you haven't delivered anything even <em> remotely </em> readable in six months, and I can't cover for you any longer. This is where any reasonable editor would drop you like a hot potato, do you understand, Aziraphale? I've spent <em> years </em> convincing people that this-" he gestured at the bookshelf behind him, which featured, among others, every single one of the modest number of Aziraphale's books, touchingly enough "-isn't nepotism. But it's starting to be, and it can't go on like this."</p><p>Aziraphale studied the tips of his shoes. There was a scuff mark on the left one. Oh, look, a pen on the floor! Was Gabriel watering that plant enough?</p><p>"Aziraphale, are you listening to me?"</p><p>"Yes, Gabriel." Aziraphale said, not listening.</p><p>An extended pause, in which it became increasingly clear that Gabriel was aware of this, and rather dedicated to glaring a hole straight through Aziraphale's left temple.</p><p>Aziraphale squirmed.</p><p>"Surely, it's not as bad as all that?"</p><p>Gabriel's steadily intensifying glare implied that it was indeed all-that levels of bad.</p><p>Aziraphale squirmed harder.</p><p>"I can." He started. "If you're not happy with the writing style. Add some more adje-"</p><p>"It's not about the adjectives." Gabriel interrupted, suddenly looking very tired. "God, if only it were, I'd hand you over to our best line editor and call it a day. It's not even the plot, it's the <em> characters." </em></p><p><em> "What's wrong with the characters!" </em> Aziraphale snapped reflexively.*</p><p> </p><p>*You see, Esteemed Reader, when one's writing is insulted most harshly, one's reaction to it depends heavily on <em> what </em> is insulted.</p><p>(We assume, in the following, that the insults are either baseless, or at least perceived as such by the insulted author.)</p><p>To insult a writing style is - we generalise for effect, but needs must - essentially, a sign of disliking the author. Needlessly mean and personally hurtful, but easy to turn the other cheek to and magnanimously ignore. Chances are they're jealous anyway.</p><p>To insult a plot, on the other hand, is a sign of disliking the genre and tropes. Well, fine then. The insulter likely wasn't part of the intended readership anyway. Sucks to be them, they don't get to enjoy plots such as these.</p><p>Insulting characters, however. Oh boy.</p><p>This is not an insult in regards to the author, or the things they enjoy, oh no. The characters are an author's <em> children, </em> friends held most dear and nurtured over pages upon pages, lovers even, and to insult them is akin to stepping up to Mr Darcy sometime around the last third of <em> Pride and Prejudice </em> and calling Elizabeth Bennet a "dirty little harlot with straw for brains" to his face.**</p><p>**Which, for the record, is an action that would invite a mean right hook both from Darcy <em> and </em> Jane Austen, who, it is rumoured, had once broken a critic's nose over a similar comment.</p><p> </p><p>"Where do I start…" Gabriel grumbled, giving Aziraphale his best <em> "we </em> talked <em> about how to take concrit, and this is NOT it" </em>look. "Do know why people read romance novels? NO." He held up one hand. "Don't answer that, it was rhetorical."</p><p>Aziraphale closed his mouth again.</p><p>"They want to fall in love, Aziraphale. They want to meet the perfect husband, or wife, or spouse, or sentient fish creature or what have you, and fall deeply, impossibly in love with them along with the protagonist, who doesn't have to be more than a relatable broom with a wig on top."*</p><p> </p><p>*The result of following a formula such as this naturally doesn't exactly make for an <em> outstanding </em> romance novel, but certainly a good and, more importantly, <em> popular </em> one, which was more than you could say about the drivel Aziraphale had handed in.</p><p> </p><p>"Which brings us to <em> your </em> characters - or at least the empty, personality-less hulls you're trying to sell us as characters."</p><p>"They have personality!" Aziraphale argued. "Er, like… Robert has unusually coloured eyes!"</p><p>"That you think that constitutes a personality may be part of the problem." Gabriel said, seriously contemplating day-drinking for the first time in his life. "I'd say your main character is a blatant self-insert, but you're actually more interesting than him."*</p><p> </p><p>*Which was saying a lot, considering the fact that the last exciting thing to happen to Aziraphale had been a car accident on his street, which Aziraphale had observed through the window - back in '17.</p><p> </p><p>"Which would be passable, at least, if he had a more intriguing love interest."</p><p>"...doesn't he?" Aziraphale said, trying to pretend very hard that he did, and failing utterly.</p><p>"Let me put it this way." Gabriel folded his hands, perhaps hoping that some benevolent deity would strike him dead if he only prayed for it hard enough. Or strike Aziraphale down. Gabriel was somewhat beyond caring. "Your <em> 'Tony Swimley' </em> reads like a subpar actor attempting to play an unlikable parody written by someone who has <em> once </em> seen the faint shade of a Victorian bodice-ripper hero."</p><p>"Meaning he's multi-layered…?" Aziraphale tried weakly.</p><p>"Meaning I can't see anyone in their right mind loving such a one-dimensional paper cut-out of a man, least of all your main character. Jesus Christ, Aziraphale, you know how far I had to suspend my disbelief during the love confession scene?"</p><p>Aziraphale indicated a very small distance with his fingers.</p><p>Gabriel held his hand as high above his head as it would get.</p><p>Then he stood up.</p><p>Climbed on his chair.</p><p>Briefly contemplated taking the elevator to the next floor up, but ultimately sat down again.</p><p>"THAT far." He deadpanned.</p><p> </p><p>It was hard to argue with a point so elaborately visualized, so Aziraphale didn't even try, looking down at where his hands were fidgeting uneasily, and biting his lip.</p><p>"Are you dropping me?" He asked softly.</p><p>It wouldn't be the end of the world. Aziraphale could find another publisher.*</p><p> </p><p>*Probably. The publishing game was merciless, and however much he would deny it, Aziraphale's writing wasn't currently up to the kind of standards the market demanded.</p><p> </p><p>But to be laid off by one's own brother… it stung nonetheless.</p><p>Gabriel grimaced.</p><p>Despite what Aziraphale might think, Gabriel did love his silly, soft, little brother, just a little bit. And, more importantly, he loved good books even more.</p><p>(This, fewer people believed. Gabriel had been born under a particularly capitalist-looking star, and, upon first acquaintance, most pegged him as a slave to mammon and PR, never considering that he might have any genuine passions whatsoever.)*</p><p> </p><p>*Back at boarding school, Gabriel had accidentally found himself the keeper of his House's communal savings, even though he'd originally only tried to become part of the book club.</p><p>The footie club he played at on weekends kept offering him a managerial position.</p><p>It was quite vexing, in the long run.</p><p> </p><p>And Aziraphale, as little as Gabriel would ever tell him, did, theoretically, have the wherewithal to write some fantastically good books.</p><p>"One last chance, Aziraphale." He ground out. "One, and then you're out."</p><p>"Oh, thank-"</p><p>"Not a book, though." Gabriel interrupted. <em> "Eden* </em>has a free slot for a serial opening up. You're going to give filling that slot your best shot, and if you somehow manage to drag yourself out of your bad writing slump and deliver, we'll see about a book. Deal?"</p><p> </p><p>*<em> Eden, </em> if the Esteemed Reader is wondering, was the publication the <em> Seventh Heaven </em>company put out every month, with middling sales numbers, but just about effective enough at luring costumers in with carefully placed teaser chapters and adverts to be profitable.</p><p> </p><p>"A <em> magazine serial!?" </em> Aziraphale gasped, in the tone one would normally say such words as <em> "leprosy" </em> or <em> "skipping tea time". </em></p><p>"YES." Gabriel gave him the sort of look that was very firm on how little Aziraphale could afford to be picky. "A magazine serial, Azi."</p><p>Aziraphale looked like he had swallowed a live frog, and rather felt it, too.</p><p>"You think that's beneath you?" Gabriel taunted. "That you're better than that? Well,<em> prove it to me." </em></p><p>He pulled an old edition of <em> Eden </em> from a drawer, and tossed it to Aziraphale.</p><p>"It's the slot starting on page 15. You are free in your choice of topics, settings, genders, but <em> for God's sake little brother, </em>put some work into the love interest. This is low stakes. I don't expect great literature from you. Just give the few hundred bored house-spouses who buy the magazine a brief glimpse of a perfect marriage; a worthy Baron Von Trapp so they can feel like Maria for a few minutes."*</p><p> </p><p>*Gabriel's favourite movie was, unsurprisingly, Sound of Music. He'd always insisted on it when they'd been allowed a movie night, and… well, let's just say, he'd made very convincing and forceful arguments when Aziraphale had protested.</p><p>Some nights, he still recited the script in his nightmares…</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale briefly contemplated arguing. Holding his head high and proving that he had not sunk quite so low as to &gt;shudder&lt; <em> write a serial.* </em></p><p> </p><p>*That prolific figures of literature such as Charles Dickens had published in this manner was entirely lost on him.</p><p> </p><p>But he quickly wilted under Gabriel's stare, and the horrifying prospect of job-hunting.</p><p>"V-very well." He muttered, picking up the magazine.</p><p> </p><p>It felt quite a bit like Socrates calling a toast with a cup of hemlock.</p><p> </p><p>"Give." He edged towards the door. "Give my love to Bee. Will you?"</p><p>"Sure." Gabriel glanced up from his computer screen. "First draft until the 31st, Aziraphale! Don't forget."</p><p>"Don't worry." The lurid illustration on the front page of <em> Eden </em>seemed to mock him, a handsome man with chiseled features in an entirely too revealing lab coat, pink writing proclaiming him to be 'THE PERFECT HUSBAND!' in a whimsical font. "I don't think I even could…"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Little shoutout to Jack and Robyn's lighthouse keeper AU, and the cursed version of their Google doc that uses the name "Swimley" for Crowley... when I needed fake names, I instantly knew what to pick! ;)<br/>("Phil" will make an appearance, too, never mind how cursed it makes me feel.)</p><p>I... actually don't have any more of this for written than this chapter, so updates might be a while. I will finish it eventually though, I don't like abandoning works entirely!</p><p>Hope you enjoyed! Do leave a kudos or comment!<br/>^-^ &lt;3</p><p>(Oh, and you can find me on <a href="https://wyvernquill.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> if you like!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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